


Rickon's Babe

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Theon Greyjoy Lives, Wonder Woman voice: A BABY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28272300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: “This is Robb.” Sansa bounced the babe gently and smiled even wider as he gurgled in response.“Is- is that?” Theon looked at the baby with wide, fearful eyes.Sansa immediately knew what he was thinking and so rushed to reassure him, “He isn’t his, Robb here is an orphan Rickon found. I’ve taken him as my ward.”
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	Rickon's Babe

It had been Rickon who had found the child and brought them into Winterfell. Apparently he had decided that he was fully capable of raising the baby, despite being little more than a babe himself.

It had taken less than an hour for the child to be discovered in his room.

Sansa really wondered why she was as surprised as she was when her baby brother was brought to her study, accompanied by a maid carrying a tiny, screaming baby.

“Please tell me you didn’t steal it.” Were her first words, all diplomacy gone from her mind at the absurd sight.

“I didn’t!” Rickon protested with great offense in his tone, “I found him. In the snows.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him, unsure whether she should actually believe him, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She gestured to the maid to bring the child closer and looked down at their little face, framed with a tuft of dark hair.

“Do you know if the child as a name or a family?” Sansa asked, taking the babe into her own arms.

Rickon looked at the ground, “No, but he was nearly dead in the snow! I don’t think he has a mama.”

There was a chance that the child was the product of a union between one of the many troops that had been stationed at Winterfell, a product that its mother could not care for in the depths of Winter.

Her heart melted as the babe blinked awake and looked up at her with big blue eyes.

“The babe can stay Rickon.” She decreed, “However, it will not be staying in your room, I shall care for it. You can help me choose a name though.”

Rickon’s eyes widened and he stepped closer, “He’s a boy, I saw when Shaggy and I found him.” He reached out with a finger and caressed the baby’s cheek, “We should call him Robb.”

Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat at that and forced a smile.

“That’s a good name.”

* * *

The raven from the Iron Islands was one Sansa received with great delight, for it meant Theon was finally coming home. It meant his sister’s rule was secure enough that Theon could return to Sansa’s side, as he had promised her once the Long Night was over, and once again when they were in Kings Landing at the kingsmoot.

She loved being at home. She loved chasing around after her baby brother ensuring he went to his lessons and didn’t cause any more damage to the castle. She loved caring for baby Robb, watching as he grew and passed the milestones that some of the maids had told her about. She loved being queen, the long hours and the satisfaction of knowing that she was truly helping her people recover from the years of hardship.

But she was also lonely.

Being Queen was a lonely position, one in which she could not trust anyone really, everyone at her court had their own agenda and she knew that sone of the lords at least would prefer to see Rickon on the throne over her. A child, a boy who might be more easily controlled and bend to their will was what she knew they wanted, no matter that Rickon was as stubborn as a mule which they would find out as soon as they tried to control him in any way, shape or form.

It was almost worth allowing them to kill her, just so she could watch them realise just how big a mistake they had made. Almost.

Her loneliness though would soon be abated when Theon arrived, he was one of the five people in the whole of Westeros she could trust absolutely.

And the only one with which she shared no blood.

She set to preparing his chambers, the ones that had once been her own, back before everything had gone wrong with King Robert’s visit. She made sure they were comfortable for him, filled with plush furs, piles of blankets, and bowls of sweet smelling herbs so that they were as different from the kennels as possible.

It was already going to be difficult enough for him to be back in the place he had been tortured, back in the place where he had nearly died from a spear wound to the gut, difficult enough without him being forcibly reminded of the indignities and pain he had suffered.

The whole of Winterfell was flustered in trying to prepare for the man they knew their queen loved. Deliveries of fish arrived to be smoked and stored, casks of ale and wheels of cheese, all the foods which Sansa knew Theon liked and would make him happy.

If she stepped back and looked at her actions, she would have had to acknowledge the truth that everyone was dancing around: Sansa Stark, Queen of the North and Lady of Winterfell was planning on courting Theon Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands and Hero of the Godswood.

But Sansa did not, and so it remained an unspoken truth.

Theon’s arrival itself was met with a sigh of relief from everyone in Winterfell, knowing that it would afford them a few days of calm as the Queen reunited with her love.

“Your Grace.” He bowed cheekily almost as soon as he had dismounted his horse. “You look as radiant as ever.”

“Lord Greyjoy.” Sansa tried desperately to keep her regal face in place, “I trust you did not get too sea sick on you trip here?”

There was a brief moment of silence as Theon processed what she had said before he let out a shriek of absolute indignation.

“Sea sick? Sea sick! Why-”

Anything else he was going to say was cut off by Rickon bounding into him and knocking him to the mud of the courtyard. The two of them wrestled in the mud for a moment, tussling in the same way that Theon and Robb had used to as children.

It was a sight that only made Sansa’s hart swell with even greater affection for Theon.

“Are you two quite done playing in the mud like small children?” She eventually called to them, when they had been wrestling for some time and must have begun to be getting cold in the wet mud.

It was perhaps a mistake to draw their attention to her like that though, when both of them turned to her with grins, their bodies plastered with mud.

“May I remind you,” Sansa said delicately, stepping backwards and uncaring of how undignified she looked, “That I have made it law that no one may splatter the queen with mud, especially not people whose name ends in an ‘n’.”

For a moment Sansa thought that it might actually work, that the two would actually listen to her and not rub mud all over her.

She was wrong.

* * *

After having dumped Rickon in a bath and removing the worst of the mud from her own person with a damp cloth while Theon did the same in his own chambers, Sansa was hit by the realisation that she still had to introduce Theon to baby Robb.

It would not do, after all, for him to stumble across the babe and assume the worst.

“Come,” Sansa said, as she tucked Theon’s hand into her crooked elbow, “There is someone you should meet.”

She led him to the nursery, fending off all his questions with a smile, until she had Robb in her arms.

“This is Robb.” She bounced the babe gently and smiled even wider as he gurgled in response.

“Is- is that?” Theon looked at the baby with wide, fearful eyes.

Sansa immediately knew what he was thinking and so rushed to reassure him, “He isn’t his, Robb here is an orphan Rickon found. I’ve taken him as my ward.”

Theon’s frame relaxed and there was a sort of wistful longing in his expression as he looked at the baby in her arms. At her holding a baby.

“Would you like to hold him?” She offered softly, and Theon startled slightly at her words.

Sansa did not care that Theon was still covered in drying mud, not when it was still so difficult for him to express his wants and desires. He held out his arms and she gently placed Robb in them, his mouth parted slightly in awe as he took in Robb’s bright blue eyes and dark blond hair.

“He looks like your son.” He breathed out finally, “His eyes are as blue as yours.”

Sansa smiled at the awe in his voice, and the way he could not tear his eyes from the babe. She did not mention that Robb’s hair matched Theon’s own, she had a suspicion that his father had been one of the Ironborn Theon had brought with him when he came back to fight for her and Winterfell during the Long Night.

She did not mention that he looked like he could have been their son, a child born and named for a much beloved brother. She did not have to, for she could see the same thoughts reflected in his eyes.

* * *

The faint sound of a man singing echoed through the halls of Winterfell, haunting in a way and yet mesmerising all the same. It was a song sung in a language that Sansa did not know, one which crested and swelled like the waves on the sea. 

It was a language that Sansa still recognised though, for it was the Salt Tongue, as ancient as the Iron Islands themselves and still learnt by most Ironborn for all it had fallen out of daily use in favour of the common tongue. 

It was a language that Theon was only just relearning, one he had forgotten most of in his time away from his family and the Islands as a hostage of Sansa's own father. His tutor had travelled with him, a surprisingly bookish man, one arranged by Theon's uncle on his mother's side. 

Theon never voiced it, but Sansa knew that he still resented her father for denying him the chance to learn the tongue of his people while still ensuring that his own children had an acceptable knowledge of the Old Tongue. And Sansa did not blame him for or begrudge him that resentment at all. 

She crept through the halls so that she might hear him better, his singing drawing her closer like a moth to a flame. It was only when she was right outside the chamber door that she realised where exactly he was singing, and thus who exactly he was singing to. 

Gently she pushed the nursery door open, careful not to disturb the undoubtedly sweet image that awaited her inside. 

When the door was open enough that she could see what it was that awaited her, she was truly glad she did not disturb it, and only begrudged that she could not preserve the image as it was forever. 

Theon stood in the centre of the room, illuminated by soft daylight pouring through one of the great windows. He was dressed in what Sansa knew to be the softest tunic he owned, and cradled against said tunic was Robb. 

He was smiling gently down at Robb, gentle in a way Sansa had never really seen him before, and it made her heart do a funny flutter in her chest. 

Sansa watched a moment longer as he finished up his lullaby and started a new one, and then shut the door just as gently as she had opened it. 

Theon would hate to know that there had been a witness to him in such a soft state.

* * *

There was a sort of warmth that filled Sansa’s chest whenever she saw Theon interact with little Robb, one that reminded her of how her mother had described her feelings for her father to her once.

It was thinking on that which alerted her to what her feelings really were, she loved Theon. And not just in the way she loved her brothers, but a sort of love meaning she wished to spend the rest of her life with him, one forged in shared experiences and fortified by their friendship.

He was so tender with Robb in his arms, and just as tender with Rickon when chasing him to his lessons and training in the same way that her father had done with him as a boy.

Her father had once said that he would find her a man who was brave, and gentle, and strong, but she had found him for herself and now she knew what she was going to do.

She called him to her solar and made sure a soft smile was on her face despite the formal words she would be speaking.

“Lord Greyjoy,” Sansa said formally, “I would ask you to do me the great honour of giving me your hand in marriage, of joining our Houses, and binding the Iron Islands with the North in alliance.”

Theon blinked at her, his face full of disbelief. “I cannot give you heirs.” He blurted out in protest.

Sansa clasped his hands in her own, “I have no need for heirs, I have Rickon and Arya, and even little Robb. I do not want you for heirs, but rather because I love and trust you, and can see myself marrying no other.”

Theon inhaled sharply and ran his gaze over her face searchingly. He must have seen the sincerity in her eyes for he stepped forwards and dropped her hands so he could pull her into a soft kiss.

“I take it you accept my proposal then, Lord Greyjoy?” She teased breathlessly once they parted.

“Aye, Your Grace.” He teased back, “I accept.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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